


Last Breath

by DaisyFairy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drowning, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Water
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 20:59:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10544238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyFairy/pseuds/DaisyFairy
Summary: An attempt to capture a murderous magician leads to John and Sherlock being trapped in one of his glass cases. Sherlock's accidentally shows that his feeling for John are much deeper than the doctor had ever imagined.





	

**Author's Note:**

> As some of you might know I HATE coming up with titles for my fics, so, for the second time, I am asking my lovely readers to help me. If you have an idea for a title for this story please let me know in the comments and I will choose one lucky person as the winner. The winner will receive one imaginary trophy, and the best thing about imaginary trophies is that their  
> magnificence and splendor is limited only by your imagination :-)
> 
> **edit** Entries are now closed, as you can see I have chosen the title "Last Breath" following suggestions from Crucible3, Lhyriad and Chahnre. Thank you so much to them and everyone who gave me suggestions.

John pounds on the glass, 

“Let us out! Now!” he is attempting to sound intimidating, but this is completely undermined by his current predicament. Instead his voice echoes slightly off of the toughened glass walls of their prison and emerges muffled and ineffective, while the suspected, scrap that, definite murderer adds another padlock to secure their confinement. 

When Sherlock accused Richard Williams aka The Grand Mysterio, without waiting for Lestrade like he was supposed to, a gun had been pulled and they had been forced to clamber into the magician’s glass box that was used in his escapology trick. The box is tall enough for a man to stand upright and they can both fit inside easily side by side. There is a pipe leading into the box at the top, during the show water would be pumped into the tank whilst the magician trapped inside tried to escape before the water reached the top.

Williams turns on the taps to start water gushing into the tank, soaking the pair in seconds. The water is freezing and soaks through the fabric of their coats quickly leaving them shivering. Sherlock is trying to open the lid on the roof of the box, but the very real padlocks and chains holding it down will not give, John tries kicking the glass, punching and just simply pushing against it, but he can not make even a small crack, the glass being made to withstand significant water pressure pushing against it, and to survive transport around the country in the back of a lorry.

“Just let us go, please.” John pleads with the man standing outside their tank, but he simply stares at them as if they are fish in an aquarium. “Please.” John repeats miserably.

“I don’t think so Doctor Watson, you have caused more than enough trouble. Goodbye.” and Williams turns and walks away, presumably out of the theatre to go on the run and try to start over again, not even looking back at the men that he is murdering.

“It is pointless to reason with him John, he is clearly a psychopath, now that he is discovered the only logical course of action is to kill us and leave.”

“Well, that’s just brilliant,” John snarls at his friend “he couldn’t just, I don’t know, handcuff us to something, or put us in this box without murdering us?” 

“No. He has a much higher chance of evading capture if we are not available to help the police in their pursuit of him. It all makes perfect sense.” Sherlock sounds almost pleased with the logic of the situation.

“So what, we just stand here and die?”

“No, obviously, Lestrade is on his way, we will be fine.” Sherlock tries for a reassuring tone, but unfortunately John knows him well enough to see hear the tension underlying it.

“How sure are you he will get here in time?” John asks whilst probing at the corner of the glass to see if there are any weaknesses.

“It will be fine John, don’t worry.” The detective replies with a very large grin on his face, which is frankly terrifying, it is the most fake smile that John has ever seen on his friend’s face.

\-------------------------------

The water is rising quickly, it has reached their chests, and they are chilled to the bone, shivering and their teeth chattering. They have given up any attempt to break out of their prison, and there is nothing to do but wait. The man had taken their phones and John’s gun, they are all within plain sight, tantalising on the floor just the other side of the glass, but of no use to them now.

“So, Lestrade…” John asks, without hope in his voice.

“Yes, I called before we entered the building, he was on his way, any minute now.”

“You know there is that parade on today, traffic could be bad.”

“Yes, I know, but he has sirens, it will be fine.”

“Yes, but you,” John pokes Sherlock in the chest angrily and shouts, spittle flying from his mouth onto Sherlock’s soaked shirt “told him we would wait for him. So he doesn’t know it’s an emergency does he, he won’t be using bloody sirens.”

The two men settle back into silence, there is nothing else to say.

A few minutes later the water is approaching the top of the tank, they have both shed their shoes to make it easier to float, following the remaining pocket of air.

“I am sorry John, I, I….”

John looks over at his friend, Sherlock looks dejected, and it is hard to tell with so much water everywhere, but it seems like there may be tears in his eyes. John places his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, “It’s not all your fault. I should have been quicker with my gun, I hesitated, should have just shot him straight away.”

Sherlock nods curtly and tries one more time to examine the roof of the box, searching for a way out. The roof is smooth glass with a tight seal. There is an inlet pipe with water constantly gushing out of it, and in the corner near Sherlock an overflow grill to allow the air out as the water comes in. The water starts to close over their heads, they tilt their faces up to get the last precious lungfuls of air. John reaches out and laces his fingers with Sherlock’s, if this is the end he doesn’t want to do it alone. He has done that once in a dessert far from home, bleeding out surrounded by strangers and vague acquaintances, at least this time he has someone he loves with him. 

John takes his last breath and the air is gone, only water against the glass roof now, he holds the breath, his lungs burning with need to release it. He can see Sherlock is by the overflow grill, there isn’t room in the tank for the two of them to switch positions so John has no hope of reaching it. Sherlock manages to suck another few breaths before the water level rises higher still up the short pipe and begins spilling out onto the ground. John looks at his friend, desperate to breathe, and is surprised when Sherlock suddenly punches him in the guts. The punch is weak, slowed by the water, but the shock is such that John releases the air in his lungs, Sherlock instantly locks his lips around John’s and pushes fresh air into him. 

Bubbles of stale air rise to the surface and go out of the overflow pipe as John realises what Sherlock has done. John had been holding his breath for almost thirty seconds before Sherlock had been forced to abandon the overflow, so the air in his lungs would have been mostly carbon dioxide, whilst the air Sherlock has just given him is fresher, must still have significant oxygen in it. He widens his eyes at Sherlock in shock, he sees Sherlock struggling not to breathe in and fail, pulling in a lungful of water. John can do nothing to help, now that he has relatively fresh air inside him he can last another minute, maybe two before the urge to breathe becomes overwhelming, but Sherlock has already breathed in water, there is panic in his eyes, and then John sees his friend pass out, floating unconscious in the water, their fingers are still laced together, and John pulls his friend closer holding him to his chest as if to protect him.

Around a minute and a half later the burning in John’s lungs is unbearable, he cannot hold out any longer, and really what is the point anyway, there is no escape from this, but then he sees a flash of movement past the glass. 

Lestrade enters the room, with a shout of “I thought you were waiting for me outside.” However he suddenly spots the two men floating in the tank of water, he stops for a second, but then runs over to them, his eyes alight on the gun on the floor. John sees in slow motion as Lestrade picks up the gun and fires it at the glass cage, in the bottom corner away from the men inside. The glass smashes and once that part is weakened the entire thing explodes, small pebbles of glass everywhere and water gushing across the floor. John and Sherlock are caught up in it, swept across the floor to land in a heap, soaked and covered in small cuts from the glass. John exhales and pulls in a huge lungful of air, making a loud whooping sound as he struggles to control himself, and to prevent hyperventilating in his panic and relief. Sherlock however lies still, his skin is pale, almost translucent, and his lips are blue.

Even after the trauma that John has been through, his medical training kicks in, “Help me Greg.” he shouts weakly, and Greg manhandles Sherlock onto his back, John tipping his head to the side so that a thin stream of water comes out. John starts mouth-to-mouth, breathing into his friend’s lungs, as Sherlock had done for him, hard breaths to try to get past the water clogging the airways. After a few breaths John checks for a pulse, it is there, but very weak, still, encouraged John pushes another four breaths of air into Sherlock’s lungs, and is rewarded by a small cough, followed by a stronger one, and suddenly Sherlock takes a ragged breath on his own, and then coughs out a larger volume of water. Greg helps him to turn Sherlock onto his side and more water is expelled from his friend’s lungs and Sherlock begins breathing almost normally, although regularly coughing and spluttering as more water is forced out. John checks and finds that Sherlock’s pulse is much stronger now, and seems to be improving with every breath that he takes, his skin gradually warming and regaining its colour. Sherlock is still not awake, and there could still be significant complications, but now that the immediate danger has passed John finds himself exhausted and lays down next to his friend so that Sherlock is facing him, lacing their fingers together once again.

John is vaguely aware of Greg somewhere nearby shouting into his phone that he needs an ambulance now, and giving directions, but he just lies drifting on the edge of sleep staring at the ceiling. He listens to Sherlock’s thin breaths and spluttering next to him, when the sound shifts slightly, looking around he sees Sherlock’s eyes open, clouded with confusion for a second, and then sees the moment when his friend realises what had happened. “I told you he would come.” Sherlock wheezes.

“Yes, you did. You didn’t believe it though. You gave me your last breath.” John says with wonder.

“Well, what else was I going to do with it?” Sherlock manages to say, his throat obviously sore from his ordeal.

In the background Lestrade is making more phone calls, but the two men on the floor ignore him, just concentrating on each other.

“Oh, I don’t know Sherlock, keep it in your lungs to stay alive?”

“Boring. Why would I want to do that without you?” 

Sherlock seems to be too tired to lie so John tries his luck at getting more answers out of the man. “So you thought you would die, and what? I would get to live another minute or so floating next to you before I died?”

“No. It gave Lestrade a few more minutes to save you. I thought it would be enough to save your life.”

“And you would die.” John replies flatly.

“Yes, I suppose so, I didn’t really think that part was all that important though.”

John stares at him his eyes wide “Not important, how can you say that?”

“As I said John, you know I hate repeating myself,” Sherlock is becoming stronger as the oxygen floods back into his body and his tone is becoming more imperious “why would I want to keep living without you?” This was said with such certainty, as if it is totally obvious, that John can not think of a single word to say in response.

He is saved from having to however by paramedics bursting into the room and coming to check them both over. They are quickly loaded onto stretchers their hands being pulled apart in the process, and taken to separate ambulances for the trip to hospital.

________________________

Several hours later John has been released after the doctors have declared him to have no serious injuries. He makes his way to Sherlock’s hospital room and sneaks in past the nurses who doubtless would try to keep him out as visiting hours finished hours ago. He finds Sherlock sitting up in his bed attached to monitors and a drip and examining his own medical chart, an oxygen mask abandoned on the sheets.

“Hello.” John says fondly.

“Oh good, you can make sense of this for me. They are refusing to release me, they keep saying I am malnourished and have an iron deficiency. How does almost drowning cause that?”

John chuckles and takes the chart out of his hands and puts the oxygen mask back on, “It doesn’t you git. But not eating for the last two days and basically living on a diet of toast, biscuits and the occasional Chinese takeaway would probably do it. We need to get you eating more healthily.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes and takes the mask off again, “Boring.”

John cuffs him on the shoulder, “Necessary.”

Sherlock flops back onto the bed dramatically. “When can I get out of here?”

“Not planning on doing a midnight flit this time then?”

“I’m …No. You got very angry with me last time.”

“Too right, but, looking at this chart I reckon they could be persuaded to let you go once you’ve had the contents of that drip. It would be normal practice to keep you in overnight, but I’m assuming you have been absolutely atrocious to all of the staff and they can’t wait to see the back of you?”

“Of course.”

John chuckles again and shakes his head, “What is it you have against doctors and nurses anyway?”

“They aren’t you. You’re my doctor. I don’t want anyone else poking and prodding me.”

John grins, his eyes crinkling at the sides. “Ok idiot. I’ll go and talk to them, let’s try to get you home. I think we need to have a chat.”

 

\---------------------------

It is well past midnight and the doctors have reluctantly relented, releasing Sherlock on the understanding that John will keep an eye on him. They trudge into the flat carrying an oxygen cylinder for Sherlock to use under John’s direction and a course of antibiotics to prevent lung infections. They crumple into their respective armchairs with a sigh. There is a slight chill in the air but neither man has the energy to light the fire.

John decides that now, in the still of the flat only illuminated by the streetlights outside, is as good a time as any to say what needs to be said, “What you said earlier, did you mean it?”

Sherlock shifts in his chair nervously, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do. You asked why you would want to keep living without me. That isn’t good Sherlock, you…you deserve to live. You don’t need me to keep you alive.”

Sherlock lifts his head, his eyes almost shining in the darkness, “I need you. I…John, I can’t go back to being alone.” He drops his eyes to his lap and continues quietly, “Before I met you I thought I didn’t need anyone else, but now I see that I was just surviving, not living, not really. I need you to make my life worthwhile, to remind me to look beyond the work, to see the stars. Now that I have seen what it is to truly live, to have someone that I…, I can’t go back. Not only that, but to live knowing that I had failed you, that I allowed harm to come to you, I just, I couldn’t. I would do anything to keep you safe, I would give anything.” He crumples in on himself, “I’m sorry, I’ve said too much. Please John, please, just forget this conversation. I think the stress has affected my mind, I shouldn’t have..”

He is cut off by lips softly pressing against his and a hand gently cupping the back of his head. After a second the lips pull back and John murmurs “I love you too.”

Sherlock gasps, which sets off a coughing fit that leaves him wheezing and feeling weak. John fetches the oxygen cylinder and places the mask firmly over Sherlock’s nose and mouth, nodding to himself when Sherlock starts to breathe a little easier. John is kneeling in front of Sherlock, their eyes lock and John takes his hand placing a soft kiss on the back of it. “I love you Sherlock, I think I always have.”

Sherlock tries to remove the mask but John holds it in place. “We’ll talk later, just concentrate on breathing. Just, tell me please, have I got it right. Do you feel the same way?”

Sherlock nods, his eyes look huge over the top of the mask as he stares in wonder at John.

John smiles and squeezes his hand. He picks up the oxygen cylinder and pulls Sherlock over to the couch, lying them down so that Sherlock is between his legs with his head on John’s chest, and covering them with a blanket from the back of the couch. He holds Sherlock in his arms and kisses his hair. “You don’t have to do it on your own anymore love. I’ve got you.” He entwines the fingers of both hands with Sherlock’s, rubbing idly with his thumbs against the backs of his hands. Sherlock drifts off fairly quickly, but John stays awake in the silent flat just listening to Sherlock breathe, the slight wheezing sound reminding him of what Sherlock had done for him. When the pink light of dawn appears in the window he gently kisses the crown of Sherlock’s head through the dark curls and allows himself to follow Sherlock into sleep, eager for the morning to arrive so that he can start living his life without having to hide his love for this remarkable man any longer.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that you have enjoyed this, if so please consider leaving kudos or a comment (or even both).
> 
>  
> 
> p.s. I have no medical training so although I have done my best I have probably made horrible mistakes with the medical details in this story, sorry.


End file.
